Better living through Prince Harry (and Booze)

I can’t afford to go down to Brazil for the World Cup this year, so I settled for the next best thing: a Saturday afternoon watching England vs. Italy at the Buffalo Wild Wings in Chicago Ridge Mall. There weren’t any Caipirinha’s on the menu and the speakers were blaring hip-hop instead of samba when we arrived at the bar, and the few England supporters on the premises were hiding in the shadows, shyly nursing their $3 Budweisers instead of pounding $8 glasses of Guinness or singing songs or smashing the place or fighting as everything the media has taught me about hooliganism has lead me to expect. I was disappointed by how tame it all was, by how calmly the two guys in the red-and-white St. George caps were swallowing the England defeat on Saturday afternoon, by how generally non-plussed they seemed by the whole affair. So I decided to liven them up by sidling over to their table near the end of the game, opening my fat-little-notebook, and asking them a few questions about Prince Harry.

“We like him okay,” the older man at the table told me after I’d asked for their opinions on Prince Charles’ youngest son, between nibbles of his Mango Habanero chicken wings. “The whole family is okay, I suppose. Kate’s a looker.”

“Yeah, Kate,” said the other one, a guy named Brian who actually turned out to be even less British than I am. He was from Iowa, but he’d spent a few weeks living in Manchester a while back and enjoyed watching football, so…that was enough of a connection for him to feel comfortable wearing that hat, I suppose. Let us judge not that we not be judged, I suppose. After all, it’s hard for me to turn up my nose at his attire given that I’m writing a piece about Prince Harry instead of Clint Dempsey or whoever the hell we’re supposed to be obsessing about this month. “She’s alright. And Diana’s her mother?”

“Actually that’s–”

I was going to explain that they were wrong, and I was going to ask them more about Prince Harry, but the game ended at that juncture and the England fans left for greener pastures. So while my first foray into garnering real, authentic opinions for my Prince Harry piece left quite a lot to be desired, I did come away with an appreciation for how difficult journalism can be and a lot of respect for anyone who is able to scarf down extra-spicy mango habanero wings without crying (Well done limeys!). Anyway, Prince Harry is going to Brazil next week, and while he’s there he’s going to catch at least two games: Cameroon v. Brazil on June 23, 2014 and England v. Costa Rica on June 24, 2014. In addition, he will also spend some time visiting a hospital, a youth organization, an environmental group, and the Team Great Britain facilities that are being built for the 2016 Olympics and Para-Olympics. All of these events will be covered by the UK press, and I’m sure I’ll spend more time digesting and speculating about Prince Harry than I’ll ever spend thinking about Lionel Messi and futbol. I don’t know if you frequent Buffalo Wild Wings as often as yours truly, but here’s a fun little drinking game to play next week, while you’re catching up with HRH via your smartphone. Drink responsibly!

Take a drink every time you:

Hear or read the words “party prince” or “playboy prince.”

Hear or read the words “youngest son.”

Hear or read the words “ Princess Diana.”

Hear or read the words “ex-girlfriend.”

Hear or read the words “eligible bachelor.”

Hear or read the words “thirtieth birthday” or “upcoming birthday.”

Hear or read the words “Cressida/Cressy Bonas.”

Hear or read the words “Chelsy Davy.”

Hear or read the words “Will and Kate.”

Hear or read the words “Princess Kate.” (ugh!)

Hear or read the words “Prince George.”

Hear or read the words “fun” or “joke.”

Hear or read the words “red-head” or “ginger”. In fact, sip every time you hear an American television announcer say “ginger” with a straight face. I knew a lot of red-heads when I was a kid, but I didn’t meet any self-proclaimed American “gingers” until a few years ago. Now they’re all over the place. Gosh darn creeping Britishisms!

You see Harry making somebody laugh.

You see Harry wearing a blue suit.

You see Harry wearing a regimental tie (blue-red-blue).

You see a photo of Cressy Bonas looking stressed.

You see a photo of Cressy Bonas looking dirty.

You see a photo of Cressy Bonas wearing that goddamn scrunchie.

You see a photo of Cressy Bonas chumming it up with the York Girls.

You see a photo of Prince George and/or Kate even though the story is ostensibly about Prince Harry in Brazil.

You see a photo of Chelsy Davy wearing a bikini or otherwise scantily clad.

Chug whenever you:

See a photo of Chelsy Davy wearing a suit or anything else similarly appropriate for her job as a Corporate Lawyer in London City.

See Harry wearing blue suede shoes.

See Harry in a tuxedo.

See Harry give a speech.

See Harry make a faux pas, particularly if it involves liking another country more than he likes England.

See Harry hug a Head of State or a senior diplomat. Buy a case and do a keg-stand if that Head of State is a man.